Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Second Life

Jiang Pingchuan paid no attention to Zhou Ninger, who lay on the bed, but instead sat cross-legged on the floor, attuned to the shifting atmosphere within the room.

It was now past noon. From outside the door, he could hear Xiao Wu and Shopkeeper Zhou instructing the other workers to begin burning the aged mugwort Xiao Wu had procured from elsewhere.

The crackling and popping sounds filtered through the doors and windows to Jiang Pingchuan’s ears, accompanied by a faint, slightly pungent fragrance of the old mugwort.

Perhaps because the older the ginger, the spicier it is, the aged mugwort burned fiercely, its smoke thick and bluish, gradually enveloping the Zhou family courtyard as dusk approached.

Inside, however, the scene was quite different. Though it was not yet deep winter, there were intermittent gusts of wind in the room, carrying with them the stench of decaying leaves.

The roof seemed like a bowl of blue clay, overturned and pressed tightly over Jiang Pingchuan’s head.

As Zhou Ninger tidied her disheveled hair, she glanced occasionally at Jiang Pingchuan, seated cross-legged on the floor. Wrinkling her nose at the faint scent of mugwort in the room, she clearly found it unpleasant.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Zhou Ninger leaned against the edge of the bed and murmured softly, a flush of color returning to her once-pale cheeks, a hint of curiosity lighting her otherwise spiritless eyes.

“Waiting for you to stop pretending to be haunted,” Jiang Pingchuan replied, eyes closed, gently rubbing the fish-shaped jade pendant at his waist.

The pendant was warm to the touch, as if it had begun to heat itself to ward off the cold.

“Who’s pretending? You people are all frauds. You can’t cure me, so you linger here, chanting and mumbling, just to swindle my family out of money.”

Zhou Ninger stood, bare feet padding across the floor, and crouched before Jiang Pingchuan, reaching for his fish-shaped jade.

Suddenly, she felt a gust of wind sweep past her and Jiang Pingchuan vanished from sight.

Startled, Zhou Ninger leapt to her feet, scanning the room, only to discover Jiang Pingchuan was now seated at her feet. She let out a shriek, pointing at him in astonishment, unable to utter a word.

“Are you a man or a ghost? What did you just do?”

Kneeling on the ground, aside from her initial shock, Zhou Ninger showed no trace of fear at the mention of ghosts. Jiang Pingchuan noted this—she had likely become accustomed to such apparitions after these past days.

Opening his eyes, Jiang Pingchuan looked at Zhou Ninger. His gaze was entirely crimson. This time, she was truly frightened and fell heavily to the floor, staring at him in alarm.

“You needn’t be afraid. I haven’t come for your family’s money, but to subdue the thing haunting you. So you can stop trying to frighten me with your tricks,” Jiang Pingchuan said, offering his hand to help her up.

Zhou Ninger gazed dazedly at him, her feelings towards Jiang Pingchuan now uncertain. He did seem to possess genuine mystical skills and, besides, she had overheard his conversation with her father at the door.

Now, standing before him, she sniffed, lifted her head, swept aside her loose hair, and fixed her large, bright eyes on Jiang Pingchuan.

“My name is Zhou Ninger. You can call me Ninger. What’s your name?” She rubbed her fair cheeks with her small hand, then opened her palm and waved it playfully before him.

Jiang Pingchuan glanced at the flour dust on her face and hands, pursing his lips. He had noticed her unnaturally pale face when he first entered.

“Jiang Pingchuan. ‘Jiang’ with the grass radical, ‘Ping’ as in flat plains, free as a horse across the open country.” He introduced himself with a cupped-fist salute.

But Zhou Ninger frowned, displeased, and pointed at his hands. Looking down, Jiang Pingchuan realized, to his embarrassment, that in saluting, he had inadvertently pressed his hands against her chest. He coughed awkwardly, his face flushing as if freshly steamed.

Zhou Ninger rubbed her chest, circled around him with curious eyes, then darted back to her bed, clutching the curtains, her body trembling.

Jiang Pingchuan, seeing her fright, quickly approached, took her hand, and observed a wisp of black mist gathering in her palm.

Supporting her wrist with one hand, he used two fingers of his other hand to gently stroke from her wrist to her fingertips. After three passes, the black mist had vanished. He immediately released her hand and saluted her again.

“My apologies, Miss Zhou. I was only eager to help,” he said sincerely. In truth, apart from holding the neighbor girl Xiaohua’s hand once as a child, he’d never been so close to a girl. Thinking of Xiaohua, he recalled the sensation—when it seemed as if the whole Maoshan Dao had disappeared, and none of the surrounding villages were spared.

“Hey, don’t just stand there like a block of wood. I’m still here, you know. I’m scared. Come sit with me, quickly,” Zhou Ninger called, feeling the chill of the room’s ghostly draughts.

Jiang Pingchuan nodded, hesitated for a moment at her bedside, but was promptly pulled onto the bed by Zhou Ninger. She lay beneath the covers, grinning at him, lost in her own thoughts.

“You seem a bit older than me, so I’ll call you Brother Pingchuan,” she said, patting the quilt, her face glowing with joy. She had always wished for an elder brother to look after and protect her.

Watching Jiang Pingchuan sitting awkwardly at her bedside, Zhou Ninger felt this must be fate—a blessing in disguise that had brought him here.

Jiang Pingchuan nodded in response, a sense of emotion stirring within him.

He had always been taken care of by his own elder brother. Now, to hear someone call him brother for the first time, he suddenly felt he had grown up.

He wondered whether his brother, Jiang Yulong, had already left the forbidden mountain behind and seen the carnage that had befallen Maoshan.

“Brother Pingchuan, do you think I’ll die?” Zhou Ninger’s smile faded, her voice low and uncertain as she brooded over her worries. She feared she would die in her bed before ever realizing her dreams.

“Don’t worry, Ninger. These things are nothing worth fearing. You’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep,” Jiang Pingchuan assured her with a smile. He removed the purple skull pendant from his waist and dangled it before her eyes.

Zhou Ninger grasped the tiny purple skull. Though it was just a small object, it felt anything but sinister—on the contrary, it seemed to contain a powerful aura, making her feel secure as she held it.

“Brother Pingchuan, what is this?” she asked, turning the skull over in her hand, noticing the faint purple aura that lingered about it.

“This? It’s my second life,” Jiang Pingchuan replied with a chuckle, seeing how interested she was. He couldn’t fully explain the purple skull, but it truly was his second life; with it, he was promised to escape one deadly calamity before he turned thirty.

“It doesn’t matter if you don’t understand. Just keep it by your side and sleep.”

Zhou Ninger nodded, placed the purple skull next to her pillow, and closed her eyes.